Michael White - The Medici secret

Mario Sporani stood in the doorway taking it all in silently, his eyes glinting with appreciation. 'Beautiful' he said simply, and Jeff indicated he should take a seat. The place was silent. Rose and Maria were apparently in bed.

Jeff went to the kitchen and started to make coffee. He kept an eye on Sporani who was gazing around the room and through the windows as if in a rapture. He watched him get up to admire the paintings and then to study a set of glass shelves containing a collection of artefacts.

A few minutes later, Jeff was standing beside him with a tray in his hands. Sporani was staring up at a painting of a reclining nude.

'At first glance I would have sworn this was Modigliani's Nude Sdraiato, but there's something wrong.'

Jeff appraised the old man. 'It's a very early work from his days in Venice at Istituto per le Belle Arti di Venezia; from about the time he first got into smoking hashish actually. Modigliani moved to Paris the following year and reworked this picture.' Sporani shook his head slowly. 'Fascinating.'

Jeff placed the tray on a stainless-steel table between two sofas close to the windows.

'OK' he said, handing Sporani a cup. 'What's this all about?'

'Naturally you're sceptical, Mr Martin. I too would have reacted the same way forty years ago.' He took a sip of coffee. 'As I said, I was the warden of the Medici Chapel, until I retired a few years ago. I was in charge of the chapel when the terrible flood of November 1966 struck Florence and destroyed so many wonders.'

Jeff watched him in silence. He guessed that Sporani was probably about seventy but he looked older than his years.

'The morning the waters broke the banks of the Arno and came into our district in a great torrent, I managed to struggle through the storm to reach the chapel. My worst fears were realised: the crypt had flooded and the bodies of the entombed Medici were in danger of being swept away.

'I was young and impulsive. Without a thought for my own safety, I rushed down into the burial chambers and was almost drowned, escaping by the skin of my teeth. I could do little to protect the crypt, but mercifully, although the waters caused immense damage, the worst of outcomes was avoided and, by that evening, the flood water in the district began to recede. While I was in the crypt scrambling to escape the rising water I happened upon a strange object, an ebony tube. I realised immediately from the crest that it had once belonged to the Medici, but I had no idea what it was. As I said, I was young. I should have handed it over to the authorities, but I could not, at least not straight away.'

He paused for a moment and took another sip of coffee. 'I broke the seal. Inside, I found a sheath of papers covered in tiny handwriting. It was written in a strange language. Fve since concluded it was probably Greek, and of course, I couldn't understand a word of it' 'Did you think of getting it translated?' Jeff asked.

'Well, I thought of it. Indeed, I mentioned my discovery to a couple of friends. This was probably a mistake. I should have just kept my mouth shut.' Jeff looked puzzled.

'None of them could help, you see. Even those who knew a little of other languages could not translate more than the odd word. I learned one crucial thing however. The last page of the text bore a signature, that of Cosimo de' Medici, the great patron and leader of Florence. Although I said I couldn't understand a word of the document, it was clearly some sort of diary or journal because the text was separated into chunks with dates at the top of each section. I made a mental note of these. Later I discovered the dates were from the year 1410.' 'And did that prompt you to hand in your find?'

'It should have done,' Sporani said and placed his empty cup on the table. 'And, I would have done so. I'm no thief.' 'Would have?'

'Two nights after my discovery, there was a bang on the front door. My wife and baby were asleep in the back room. I went to answer it. I was pushed back into the hallway with a gun held to my head. There were two men. One of them was British I think, the other, Italian. He was the one who did most of the talking. Although, actually neither of them said very much. They wanted the Medici document.' 'How did they know about it?'

'I'm not certain. But I should have told no one about my discovery. I handed it over, of course. When the Italian guy noticed the seal had been broken I was sure he was going to kill me. I had to think fast. I told them it was broken when I found it.' 'And they believed you?'

'I don't know. I think the man with the gun was all for pulling the trigger, but the British one stopped him. He said something I'll never forget: "I will blow your baby's brains out if you ever tell another soul about this.'"

From outside came the faint sound of a ship's horn. 'So, why are you here, now?'

Sporani was gazing out through the windows as if in a dream. Snapping out of his reverie, he turned his weary eyes to Jeff. 'Oh, they no longer have a hold over me, Mr Martin. My baby boy grew into a fine young man, but five years ago he was killed in a motorcycle accident in Bologna. And my wife, Sophia, she passed away last month. Breast cancer.' 'I am sorry.'

'Oh, you needn't be. We had a happy life, the three of us.'

Jeff poured them some more coffee. 'So, why have you come to see me?'

'I need your help. You're of course aware of the Medici Project, the team studying the remains in the chapel?' 'Yes.' 'Well, I believe they are in terrible danger.' 'Why do you think that?' 'Because of what I have just told you.' 'But that was over forty years ago…'

'When I first heard about the Medici Project, I voiced my opposition. I told the authorities at the University of Pisa who are funding the team that I believed someone or some group of people did not want the bodies disturbed. No one would listen.'

'I can see why they might have been sceptical,' Jeff admitted.

'Indeed. At the time I could offer nothing to make them think me anything other than a crank.' 'But you've spoken to the team?'

'This is why I've come to see you, Mr Martin. Professor Mackenzie wouldn't even agree to see me. They have their daily fill of protestors – people like Father Baggio. You've heard of him?' Jeff nodded.

Sporani gave him a piercing look. 'Your old friend, Edie Granger. You will know from her that Professor Mackenzie is an arrogant man, but he must be persuaded to reconsider his work in the chapel.'

Jeff and Edie went back a long way. Indeed, she was his closest and oldest friend. They had met at university, and although they had since travelled very different paths, they had remained close. When they first met, she had been an eighteen-year-old Goth who went on to win a first in chemistry and pathology before completing a DPhil specialising in paleopathology. Her friends joked that she was carrying on the family business; both her parents had been archaeologists. 'I've only met Professor Mackenzie a handful of times. I know him as much by reputation as anything else.'

'Yes, of course, the world-famous palaeopatholo-gist, something of a household name these days, the man your Times newspaper dubbed "The Mummy Detective". Maybe he is too important to talk to me. Which is why I've come to see you. You're the only one who can convince them of the danger they face.'

Jeff stared at Sporani and shook his head slowly. 'I hate to disillusion you Mr Sporani, but you're quite wrong. There's nothing I could do. Besides, I'm not convinced your fears are justified.' 'You're not?'

'Well, no. I believe your story, but it was a long time ago. Maybe the two men who broke into your house were simply thieves, and they knew how to buy your silence.'

'Perhaps,' Sporani replied, fixing Jeff with an intense stare. 'But a year ago, before my Sophia died and soon after the planned disinterment was announced, I was sent this.'